That Crazy Little Thing Called Trust
by Baileys
Summary: Before Peter could make a decision on whether to close the Keller case, he decides he needs to know why Neal did what he did. A/N: A short story in 3 parts.
1. Chapter 1

That crazy little thing called trust 

"_He had the treasure and he didn't leave. He gave it up for us. I think that says a lot about his character."_

"_He had the treasure. I think that says a lot about his character."_

Peter and El on Neal, S3E12 Upper West Side Story

* * *

"_Must be nice to have someone who believes in you."_

It's not until after El is home, and Neal is trying to buy his way back into his good graces with Yankees tickets, that Peter remembers that throw away comment from their post interrogation walk through the park, on their way to pick up Rusty. He dismissed it at the time. Had to in order to keep up the act. Like Kramer said, if Neal was a suspect, he needed to be treated like one and there was no way Peter could do that and still be a friend. He justified his choice by reminding himself if someone else proved the treasure didn't burn, then Neal would still be the prime suspect and there'd be no way for Peter to save him. The bestway to protect Neal was to find out exactly what trouble he'd gotten into. It was the _only _way. It was.

It wasn't.

Standing with one arm gripping the stairs bottom baluster, torn between grabbing his keys to go sort this out right now and sitting on his couch to watch the late game, Peter is trapped in indecision. With the treasure still a wedge between them, Keller having done himself a favour in the guise of doing them one, things are still not as they should be and Peter's trying very hard to ignore the part of his brain that's telling him it's because he's not letting it.

Is El right? Is his constant mistrust of Neal a barrier for what he overall wants to achieve? Is he even capable of trusting Neal? Peter thinks he can, when it matters. He's certain Neal would never intentionally hurt them. Unintentionally, unfortunately, is a distinct possibility. Neal still does not see that running isn't an option anymore, if it ever was. Neal in all his _Neal-_ness is an integral part of their lives now, whether he's good or bad or in between, Peter will never let him just walk away from the life he's built here, never.

Following on from his conversation with El, wherein he enlightened her on his _Neal misbehaves_ _and gets away with it because he's Neal_ theory and she pointed out that it's the intent that matters, not the act. Peter thinks that maybe knowing _what _Neal did isn't enough, before he can make a decision on whether or not to close the Keller case, before he can settle things in his own mind, he needs to know _why _Neal did what he did. It's the only way he'll know how to spot the signs and stop it from happening again.

A soft tap, tap, tap on the front porch glass breaks Peter from his stuck position at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'll get it," he calls out lacklustre to El, already unhooking the latch.

Swinging the door open, still mulling over his choices, Peter's first sight is of – _would you believe it?_ – Neal. He's standing grinning up at him, as if butter wouldn't melt, holding out a ribbon wrapped, yellow cardboard bakery box grasped tightly in both hands.

"Cookies?" Neal smiles wider, offering the box as he steps inside without invitation.

Peter takes it with the usual amount of suspicion he has for Neal's spontaneous gifts, "conned your way into the girl scouts?"

He eyes the box carefully, checking for signs of tampering before eventually lifting the lid and taking out a perfectly round and crumbly one to inspect it.

Neal's eyes narrow, posture stiffening. "You know, for once it would be nice if you didn't immediately suspect an ulterior motive."

Peter takes his focus off the cookie and makes eye contact. "You know for once it would be nice if you'd just be honest without resorting to bribery." He grins to soften the blow before taking a large bite.

Shoulders slumping, Neal's the first to look away, and he shuffles awkwardly, removing his hat and dropping it in the middle of the coffee table before turning around again. "Can't I just do something nice?"

"You can." Peter says coolly around a mouthful of, admittedly, deliciously chewy oat and raisin. "You don't."

Neal's eyes blow wide, looking truly hurt and says nothing. Peter studies him, looking for any clues that might explain the sudden distress and coming up empty.

"You always have a reason Neal." He shakes his head, and backs away toward the couch, intending to sit.

He's hoping the kid will naturally follow his lead like usual when trying to plead his way out of trouble, but something else happens. Something Peter's never experienced from Neal before.

"Well maybe Elizabeth will like the cookies." Snatching the box out of Peter's hand, chin in the air, he stomps off through to the kitchen.

Chuckling at the audacity of this kid, Peter takes a second to get his amusement in check and re-evaluate his plan before trailing after him. Sure enough, as he expected, upon stepping through the kitchen door he finds Neal leaning against the counter, looking forlorn and accepting all the sympathy El has to offer.

He almost hates to the break up the little scene, mainly because it's the first time in a long while that he's seen Neal look so open. But now as before, Peter feels he can't let emotion guide him. If they are going to put this to bed he needs to stay firm and come at this like an Agent, not a friend.

"Hon, sorry, but I need to talk to Neal alone."

It's a blink and you miss it moment, but Peter catches the flash of fear in Neal's eyes the second El moves to leave. Clearly having spotted the same, as she passes his astute wife rises up on her toes and pecks Peter on the cheek. Communicating with nothing but the earnest blue of her eyes to tread carefully, she pats him once on the chest before turning to look back at Neal. The sheepish nod she gets from him in response tells him El might just have a better understanding of what's going on here than he has. Undeterred from his plan however, Peter nudges his chin in the direction of the back door.

Shoving both hands in his pockets, Neal follows him out onto the patio. "You okay? You seem a little tense. If it's about the plan tomorrow-"

"This has nothing to do with Woods." Peter settles himself at the table.

He can't say he's looking forward to having dinner with the guy responsible for managing money for the Juarez cartel. Anything goes wrong and it's not just the case blown, drug lords don't exactly take kindly to anyone poking their nose into their finances, and those that do don't usually live to tell the tale.

"So, what is it?"

Neal's shuffling his feet, dancing nervously from one foot to the other, seemingly unable to keep still.

"Well this is something new," Peter lilts. He's holding back a mocking smile, but only barely. "You're nervous."

"Well you'd be nervous too." The kid suddenly dips his head to stare at the floor, uttering much more quietly, "you're clearly still mad with me."

He plans to challenge that, but seeing Neal take a step backwards, gaze flitting between the door and floor, Peter realises what's about to happen.

"Hey," Peter quickly grabs his wrist, hard, and tugs him forward, forcing him to sit down. "I'm not mad, not really, but I do need answers."

"Answers?" Neal repeats whisper quiet, a frown on his face as he begrudgingly relaxes into the cold metal chair. "I swear Peter, I'm not keeping anything else from you."

It's said with such conviction Peter has to applaud him, the energy needed to push down all the fear and anxiety obviously coursing through him must be immense.

"I know, I believe you, don't worry." He keeps his tone light. The last thing Peter wants is Neal feeling on edge, there's been enough of that these past few weeks for both of them. He takes a deep breath. "What I need to know now is, _why_?"

"Why?" Neal repeats, as if the word holds no meaning.

Peter nods, settling back into his own chair again, only now regretting not bringing a beer with him to make things more casual. "I know Mozzie stole the treasure, I know you knew and hid it from me-"

Neal springs forward, hands flying out of his pockets and pushing against the table, "I didn't come here to talk about this again-"

"Neal, I need to know why you made the choices you made so I can decide whether or not to close the case."

It's the truth, well… partly. The other part is less noble. He wants to know if closing the Keller case is really the right thing to do for both of them. _Neal misbehaves. _His mind just can't stop thinking it. A small part of his brain is telling him he's doing this all wrong, but the larger more logical part is ordering him to stick to the plan. Not be a wuss. Tough love. Cruel to be kind. He's doing Neal a misjustice if he doesn't stick to the firm boundaries he states over and over again Neal so desperately needs.

"It's about consequences." Neal recites as if plucking it right out of his brain. "Your speech about not rewarding me for bad behaviour, remember?" He tips his head to the side mockingly.

"Consequences." Peter nods. "So…"

"So?" Neal bats right back when it's clear he's stuck on how to start

The kid is clever, Peter can't help but smile at that. "Alright," he takes a deep breath and asks the question, "why didn't you come to me, tell me the truth from the beginning?"

"I did tell you. I told you I didn't steal the treasure!"

Peter holds back the growl of frustration. This is Neal. He knows, no matter how much he wishes it were different, Neal will never offer up more than he's been asked for. It's ingrained in him to keep everything a secret, to trust no one. Some day's Peter falls for it and fails to ask the right question, on those days Peter is frustrated and annoyed, he's left with the wrong answers and nothing but dead ends. On other days they can just end up arguing, because Neal isn't the only one who struggles to say what he means. Peter thinks Neal actually believes his own half-truths and others self-drawn conclusions, which is somehow worse, but not an issue they should get into tonight. One emotionally charged drama at a time.

"Okay, once you knew where the treasure was and who took it, why plan to run?" He restates, leaving as fewer gaps for loopholes as possible.

Neal's lips act as if they're sown shut. Eye's getting impossibly wider with every passing second the question is left unanswered.

"You didn't steal it, yet you let me continue suspecting you did. Made yourself an accomplish in the process. You risked everything Neal! All I want to know is _why_?"

"Mozzie." Neal shrugs, voice quiet but strong.

Peter sighs, realises he's leaning forward, invading Neal's personal space and slowly sits back to think.

"I know he's your friend, but Neal," he breaths out a heavy sigh, "this was your life -"

"You think I didn't know that?" Neal snaps, hands once again pushing against the table and this time he uses the momentum to stand up. "I couldn't turn him in Peter. He's my friend, but you're my friend too and that's why it was so…." There are tears in his eyes suddenly, but Neal doesn't turn away or try to hide them. "I didn't want to have to choose, I thought if I could just try and keep everything together, make you both happy then maybe things would work out."

Neal swipes at his cheeks, using the sleeve of his fancy suit to dab at any remaining moisture. Peter sits, watches and waits. Not because he doesn't know what to do in response, but because he needs Neal to get through this moment on his own. Feeling guilt and hurt is all part of the consequences he insists Neal always avoids by running away or finding excuses, breaking down his purposefully bad actions into technicalities until they hold none of their original meaning.

"You could have asked for my help." Peter slips in softly, gaze fixed on Neal, keeping himself still and calm lest any movement cause him to spook.

"Your help?" Neal splutters, tears slipping loose and trailing those flushed cheeks.

Peter's suddenly questioning his decision to push this. He hates seeing anyone upset, and especially hates it if he knows he's the reason, but that's something else Peter knows about consequences that Neal doesn't. They don't just impact on the wrong doer.

"Yes Neal, I could have helped you."

"Peter, you accused me of stealing the art _seconds_ after the warehouse exploded!" He laughs, not a happy laugh either, a desperately sad one. "I was still in shock from Adler trying to kill me. I mean god," he clasps both hands over his head and paces the very edge of the patio. "If you hadn't come back when you did I would-"

"You don't know that." Peter jumps in, not wanting to be reminded of how very close he came to losing Neal through his own poor decision making.

"If Mozzie hadn't set that fire, you wouldn't have known to come back for me." Neal stops pacing and looks him straight in the eye. "Adler would have shot me. That's the truth, because I would never have taken his deal."

"What deal?" Peter sits forward, the effort to suppress his own fear and anxiety over the many possible outcomes of that day instantly forgotten.

Neal's glassy-eyed stare turns to face the garden fence.

"Neal?" Peter pushes.

"He wanted me to join him, okay," Neal throws his hands up in frustration. "I refused. He wasn't about to leave a witness behind."

Peter sighs and sinks back, tapping a thoughtful finger to his cheek. "You never told me that."

"You never asked." Neal shrugs.

Neither mention why that was. For Peter it's a combined example of not asking the right question and not wanting to know the right answer. It had been an emotionally charged day, and when that seared piece of canvas fell at his feet-

"You should have trusted me."

"Why?"

Peter rears back, "why?" He scoffs, "you really need to ask that?"

"Yeah." Neal folds his arms. "I do. Because I stood alone outside that warehouse and you accused me of taking something I didn't. I could have died Peter and you would have always thought I'd stolen that treasure. You wouldn't have questioned it because I'm a criminal, and I always will be in your eyes."

"That's not-" He starts shaking his head, but the doubt niggles at him.

"Not what? True?" Neal pushes, daring Peter to deny it.

He goes one better; he completely ignores it. "So, someone leaves an anonymous card on your table, with the location of a priceless cache of treasure embossed on it and the first thing you do is go there alone and not tell anyone? Not tell me? What innocent person dos that?"

"You had made it very clear you thought I had stolen it, if I showed up with that card…" Neal's voice wavers, "I was scared Peter," he shrugs unapologetically. "I didn't think you'd believe me."

"You should have given me the chance,"

"Oh for!" Neal spins, pulls at his hair, making the gelled strands stand up at odd angles. "Why can't you for once look at things from my point of view? I told you the truth and you threw it back in my face," his voice cracks, "even after everything" and breaks.

Peter looks away. "I had good reason to suspect you."

Screeching of rusty metal hinges breaks the silence that reins after those words leave his thoughtless lips. Following the sound, he sees the garden gate is left swinging, and hears the pounding of feet fade the further they get down the refuse alley at the back of the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter retreats back inside, grabbing a beer from the fridge on his way to the couch. Feeling the pull for some oblivion deep in his old bones, he takes several quick swigs from the bottle and falls back into the cushions. This started off as him simply needing to know some details before making a major decision which impacts both their life's, but somehow, it's ended up with them facing truths neither wanted to examine.

"What happened?" El appears in front of him.

"Neal, as usual." Peter drawls, taking another long satisfying chug on his beer. "Having one of his tantrums. I'll let him calm down, talk to him in the morning."

"Is that wise?" She eyes him suspiciously, taking a seat next to him.

"Probably not," he sits forward, unable to rest. "But what else can I do? He needs to understand there are-"

"Consequences?" She smirks humourlessly.

"Yes." Peter snaps. "He lost the right to be trusted from all those years he committed god knows what crimes against however many people. He's always working a second angle for Christ sake. Neal needs to learn he can't always have everything his way. He can't lie and cheat and steal and expect to keep anyone's trust."

"What about faith?" El offers simply.

"What?"

"Faith." She smiles at him softly. "Neal plays a double angle and always tries to come out on top because that's how he keeps himself safe. But he adores you Peter, deep down he knows you'd never hurt him on purpose."

"Knew." Peter utters the one word as if it holds the ultimate meaning. "Before the warehouse exploded Neal _knew_ I wouldn't hurt him on purpose. But then I did apparently, and now I don't think he's so sure."

"Well then, that is something _you _need to fix," she says without apology. "But still, if Neal's ever going to have a chance of being the man you want him to be, you're going to have to have faith he'll make the right choices."

"And when he doesn't?" Peter swallows. "What if he falls back into his old ways? What do I do then?"

"When he doesn't," she pauses, thinking face on she shifts closer. "You pick him up, give him a hug and tell him you know he'll get it right next time. That's showing him you have faith."

Peter thinks back to that moment of standing watching the warehouse burn and feeling the turmoil of being relieved about having taken a life. Alder was dead by his hand because he'd been careless enough to leave one of his own alone and unprotected at an unsecure crime scene, but Neal was alive and that's what mattered to him most in those moments. Then the section of paint covered canvas fell at his feet and the anger, the upset, the annoyance of a needless outcome all came crashing down upon him.

"Faith huh?" He looks over into the smiling face of his wife who knows him better than anyone.

"Hon," she pats his hand. "I know you want to be a good role model to Neal, but I think you need to cut both of you a little slack. Nobody's perfect."

"I do not want to be Neal's anything right now." Peter denies, avoiding the implication that even she thinks he may be firmly in the wrong here.

El smiles wider, amusement lighting her eyes. "Now who's lying? Peter, you've never been as obsessed with anyone like you have Neal. You wouldn't be so worked up about this if you didn't care about him."

"I never said I didn't care," he's quick to correct. "but I'm not…" The word is whispered so quietly its almost indecipherable, as if it's almost too uncomfortable to say.

"Peter Burke, I love you and it's because you love me that I know what that feels like. It's wonderful, suffocating and frightening all at once." She shuffles closer, takes his hand in hers. "Even if you haven't got the answers you want, you need to make this right with him."

Peter shrugs, helplessly. "How do I even do that?"

El sits back against the cushions with a sigh, picking up his discarded beer with the intention of finishing it off. "Not automatically assuming he's always lying would be a good start."

…

"I'm fine Moz." Neal dismisses quickly, after walking into his own apartment to find Mozzie lounging on his couch where he left him hours earlier.

"I take it the visit did not go as planned?" Holding his wine aloft, Mozzie drags himself up and wanders over to join Neal out on the balcony, "what happen?"

Neal doesn't react at first, like a stone statue he continues staring out over the river, at the city lights twinkling in the distance, envying their simplicity and beauty, then his fingers start rhythmically tapping against the concrete barrier separating him from a freefall to the sidewalk below.

"I messed up." He heaves in a heavy, heavy sigh.

He'd gone over to see Peter because sitting mulling over his negative thoughts was driving him insane. Neal wanted some reassurance that despite the obvious potential repercussions to his deal with the FBI, their personal relationship had a chance to recover from the whole treasure fiasco and he felt the best way to find that out was to do as he normally would, he'd invade Peter's home, insert himself into the Burke's private lives and see if Peter grudgingly allowed it like _he_ normally would. When his anklet stayed a solid green all the way over the Brooklyn bridge as he firmly followed the pre-agreed path, his anxieties eased. It meant Peter hadn't told the Marshals to remove his home as a safe place, meant he was still welcome.

"I'm sure it isn't that bad."

Neal rolls his shoulders and gives Mozzie a sideways glance. "He started asking me about the treasure. About why I didn't tell him everything from the start."

"What did you say?"

He shrugs, "What could I say?" and turns to drop into one of the lounge chairs, not ready to go back inside just yet, despite the chill of the night air. "I just…" But his words fade and Neal falls into a contemplative silence.

"Well, for a suit he isn't bad, but he is still a suit. He'll always be the enemy, Neal. You can't forget that. Anyway, I heard about this opportunity in France-"

Neal listens with half an ear, focus on quieting his mind and taking deep breaths. The stinging sensation in his eyes, the one which had him running from Peter's back yard, quickly returns. He hadn't wanted Peter to see him cry and he wants Mozzie to even less.

"I might not have to run." He says softly. "Peter hasn't made his decision yet. There's still a chance I could stay."

"A chance for what? We don't have the treasure but that shouldn't mean we give up. We should leave now, before the suits lock you up again. I mean, do you really think he's just going to let this go without punishment?"

"Maybe," he sighs, tone belaying his doubt in that. "My commutation-"

"Is a pipe dream!" Mozzie screams. "Neal, I know you don't want to hear this-"

"Then don't say it!" Neal snaps, jumping up to pace the floor and get rid of the nervous energy coursing through him.

"He should shoulder some of the blame." Mozzie finishes, not heeding the warning.

"Why?" Neal spins, icy glare fixed on his friend. "Because_ Peter _made me an unwitting accomplice to a crime and forced me into running without ever asking if that's what I wanted?"

Mozzie's confused at first by Neal's response, then his voice turns cold. "Okay what did the suit do tonight? Because this isn't you Neal."

"He's right." Peter announces his presence, stepping out onto the balcony slowly, arms held out at his side in the traditional 'I'm not armed' cop stance. "It isn't."

"You followed me?" Neal turns his glare onto Peter.

"I know where you live Neal."

The three descend into a tense silence, the likes found only at high stakes poker games during the final hand.

"Yeah, okay, you two clearly have plenty to talk about," Mozzie interrupts, "so I'm going to go…" He's already heading for the door, glass and all.

"You stay." Peter stops him with his shout, then points at the kitchen table.

"Ookay." Mozzie immediately turns back around and sits as directed.

Neal watches, rolls his eyes at the instant compliance and wonders how on earth he's ended up with these two as the main influences in his life.

"Neal," Peter looks directly at him, finger now pointing at the opposite chair.

Something inside him itches to take it. To accept the olive branch that is being offered. Another, much more childish part, wants to leave. Not run. Just leave. Make Peter feel bad for a little while longer.

The childish part wins.

He slips off the balcony barrier where he'd taken to leaning, and without a word heads through his apartment out his dressing room door, letting it swing shut on his behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter arrives at Neal's place with feelings of deep apprehension, feelings that don't ease upon walking through the partially open door and hearing voices on the balcony. Stepping lightly through the apartment, Peter pauses on threshold, just out of sight.

"_I might not have to run."_ Neal whispers softly, the words carrying on the breeze to Peter's ears. _"Peter hasn't made his decision yet. There's still a chance I could stay."_

His breath catches in his throat, putting excess pressure on his chest, and it doesn't ease as he might have hoped when Mozzie's suggestion of leaving sooner rather than later isn't met with excitement. The unhappy, low tone tells him Neal's state of mind is not good, and maybe it's only because the words aren't being said to him, but Peter is suddenly very aware of his own feelings and is quickly overwhelmed with empathetic despair.

Despite his difficulties in breathing Peter continues to listen, mind whirling with everything said and left unsaid, thinking up ways to convince Neal he has a home here once again, but Neal snapping at Mozzie snaps him out of his fugue state before he can come up with an answer.

"He's right." Peter speaks without thinking, revealing his position and therefore leaving no doubt he'd been listening in on their conversation. Holding his arms and palms out in surrender, Peter forces eye contact with Neal, hoping he'll see just how sorry he is. "It isn't."

Unfortunately, his earnestness is met with irritation and gets them nowhere. So, after Neal opts not to take the seat proffered, Peter finds himself seated opposite Mozzie, the two glaring at each other over the kitchen table. They've been silent for nearly ten minutes, waiting for Neal to come back, when it's Mozzie, surprisingly, who breaks it.

"More wine?"

Peter tips his head back, running a hand down over his mouth to muffle a sigh. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"To have this conversation? Nope." Mozzie stands quickly and fetches the bottle for a refill.

Peter continues to stare dead ahead, out the still open balcony doors, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy."

"You realise he's not hurting anyone, right?" Mozzie proclaims with earnest from behind him.

"Not hurting anyone?" Peter, not for the first time, struggles to comprehend how on earth someone who claims to be so smart can possibly be so conceited. "Forgetting the obvious for a second, what about the innocent victims in your little capers, you think because _you _get away clean that no one else gets in the crossfire?"

Mozzie pauses at his side, on his way back to the table. "I really am sorry for what happened to Elizabeth."

Just having it mentioned, Peter tenses, not because he's mad at Mozzie, but because remembering how close he came losing his wife to the low life scrum that is Matthew Keller, it doesn't bare thinking about.

"I'm fine." He puts both palm flat on the table. "That's not what this is about."

"It's not?"

He doesn't sound convinced and as Peter watches him carefully retake his seat, refilled wine glass clasped tight in one hand, bottle in the other, he knows if anything good is going to come out of this then he needs to keep things focused.

"This is about Neal."

"Sure," Mozzie agrees easily, too easily, "so, what _did_ you do to Neal tonight?"

Grinding his teeth, Peter loses what restraint he's so far maintained and jumps up out of his seat to pace the floor. "I didn't _do _anything."

Mozzie just jiggles the near empty wine bottle at him and Peter dismisses the offer with a wave and sits back down to try again. "I asked Neal why he didn't tell me the truth about the treasure straight away."

Mozzie takes a sip of wine, looking at Peter over the rim. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No, I don't think it is." Peter feels his annoyance building again, as is often the case when talking to the little guy. "Neal put himself in danger and risked his freedom by keeping _your_ secret. I'm struggling to understand why, as his friend, you don't seem to have a problem with that?"

"Look suit, you'll never understand our life." Mozzie slips back in his seat, but seemingly unable to find a comfortable spot, he fidgets relentlessly. "It's the code. You live and die by it. It's just the way it is."

"You're in denial." Peter scoffs.

Mozzie rears back, an exaggerated look of confusion on his face. "And by the way, I would hardly call what Neal has freedom."

Peter, ignoring the attempt to deflect, leans in closer. "Neal is your front man. You've never been on any law enforcement radar because when it comes to the actual law breaking someone else takes all the risk. Neal takes the risk."

"That's not-"

"Not what?" Peter pushes. "Not how it is? You stole the treasure. You burned Neal's art in place of the real art. You knew Neal would have been the bureau's number one suspect regardless of our relationship, yet you still framed him!"

"Nothing should have survived the fire. My plan was full proof."

"But it did and it wasn't." Peter snaps, hands flying, doing the talking for him. "Your thoughtless action led me to think the worst, you made me-" he cuts himself off, anger deflating from the impact of his words even before he says them. "Mine and Neal's relationship," he takes a breath. "It's complicated, but for it to work he needs me to believe in him, it's the only way I can keep him safe. If something bad were to happen because Neal didn't trust me to help him..." Peter pauses again, to get the quiver in his voice under control. "I need him safe Mozzie."

As it turns out, Mozzie has no response to that. He's still giving him a wide-eyed look, blinking manically behind those thick milk bottle bottom lenses when Neal walks back in the room seconds later. Straightening his back, Peter quickly Wipes any hint of emotion from his expression and turns to greet him. Noticeably fresh from the shower, hair wet and hanging loose in clumped curls over his forehead, the style takes years off him and once again the question of exactly how old Neal is pops into Peter's head. Instead of his usual impeccable style, the sweat pants and t-shirt affords a more relaxed look than Peter recalls ever seeing on him before.

"You're still here." Neal says as if simply stating it as fact, strolling over to the fridge and lifting out a different bottle of wine to the one from which Mozzie had poured.

"The suit has some questions." Mozzie enlightens before Peter can speak, taking a long sip from his own nearly empty glass.

"I only asked him what I asked you." Peter defends wearily, watching Neal's careful movements, wondering what the hell went wrong with his evening.

Wine poured Neal leans against the kitchen side nearest the door and chews his bottom lip. "And?" he asks, lifting the glass to his lips, taking a sip.

Peter turns to Mozzie, passing the buck to him.

Mozzie eyes move swiftly between them. "Hey, if you two have issues, it's for you to work them out."

"I don't have issues." Neal shrugs.

"Alright, enough." Peter slams one hand on the table. Looks at Neal. "You're mad at me. I get it." Despite all attempts to separate Peter the Agent from Peter the friend, it's clearly not possible, and he doesn't want to continue like this. "We need to sort this now or tomorrows op is off."

"Peter, no!" Neal protests, breaking from his cool act, pushing away from the kitchen side.

"Well then," Peter nods at the empty chair. "Let's talk."

Neal looks nervously between him and Mozzie, like he has to choose, and Peter acknowledges that is pretty much how they all ended up in this mess to start with.

"Mozzie." Peter speaks again before anyone else can.

"Yeah?"

"Go." He indicates the door with a thumb over his shoulder.

Mozzie downs his wine, jumps up and all but runs out the door. "Sorry Neal."

Watching Neal watch his friend escape Peter can see the desire burning within him to follow, which douses his annoyance a little bit. Moving his chair around to face him, Peter reaches out, takes the wine glass from one clammy, too lax hand and wrapping his own around Neal's wrist, pulls the kid forward until Neal's standing directly in front of him, almost between his knees.

"Hey," Peter whispers softly to draw his attention, taking hold of Neal's other hand and bringing them together, giving a firm squeeze. "Before we get into this, I want you to know, I'm sorry for what I said earlier tonight."

The blue eyes full of doubt, which were previously trying to look anywhere but at Peter, suddenly freeze in place, focusing on the floor.

"Neal, I'm saying I'm sorry." Peter smiles awkwardly, hoping for some kind of response.

Neal flits his gaze up, shrugging his shoulders. He's still processing. Doesn't know what else to do. After stomping through to door to the corridor beyond, leaning Mozzie and Peter alone, Neal didn't really have a plan, but he knew he had options. He decided on taking a shower, knowing it would not only give him something to do to take his mind off things, but also help him relax and loose some of the tension built up from first his conversation with Peter in his yard and then Mozzie just now on the balcony. Getting dressed, opting for an outfit that made it clear to Peter he wouldn't be going anywhere with him tonight, Neal found himself eyeing the secret door which lead to the secret room behind the mantel mirror. Spying should have been beneath him. Five minutes in a room alone with his mark and Neal could convince them to hand over their life savings if he wanted them too. But Peter isn't his mark. And what he wants from him is a lot more valuable than any material treasure.

Carefully opening and closing the door, fearful Peter might hear, or actually get bored and come look for him, Neal approaches the glass and sees the pair having what seems to be a heated argument.

"_Neal is your front man. You've never been on any law enforcement radar because when it comes to the actual law breaking someone else takes all the risk. Neal takes the risk."_

Neal sees Mozzie instantly take mock offence to what he knows is the truth and Peter stand for none of it.

"_You knew Neal would have been the bureau's number one suspect regardless of our relationship, yet you still framed him!"_

He blinks. That's not something he considered. Mainly because Peter was leading the charge and hell bent on arresting him. At the time of finding out Mozzie had burnt his own work the first thought to crossed his mind was betrayal. Mozzie was someone who appreciated art for its monetary value. Beyond that, and maybe the odd piece of modern art that he felt represented the less excepted of society, he really wasn't interested. When it came to Neal's art, if they weren't forgeries then it was worth no more than a child's drawing on a refrigerator. Unnecessarily sentimental. He feels sad for a moment, he doesn't remember his mom ever showing pride in his drawings as a child, but sooths himself with the thought El would probably have put his art on the refrigerator if he'd shown it her.

"_Your thoughtless action led me to think the worst, you made me-" _

Peter cutting himself off mid-sentence draws Neal's attention back to the action happening in his kitchen, and he watches and waits for what he hopes come next.

"_Mine and Neal's relationship," _Peter breaths heavily, _"It's complicated, but for it to work he needs me to believe in him, it's the only way I can keep him safe. _

Watching his friends interact without him there to keep the peace started out as amusing, but hearing such desperation come from someone Neal's never seen not in full control before makes him nervous. When Peter talks to him, he's usual barking orders like 'don't do that' or 'don't touch that' and 'keep your hands where I can see them.' On special occasions he's treated to long-winded lectures on the repercussions of doing what he's been told not to. This is a side of Peter Neal's never seen before.

"_If something bad were to happen because Neal didn't trust me to help him... I need him safe Mozzie."_

Neal didn't want to hear anymore and quickly exited the secret room as quietly as he had entered. He wanted authoritative Peter back. Not that he enjoys being yelled at or told off like a mischievous school boy, but he needs Peter in control. Needs him to be the strong confident one, because for all his skills, the real Neal Caffrey is often insecure and full of self-doubt.

Neal braces himself behind the door to the kitchen first, faking a persona is a process he's got made and so only seconds have passed by the time he's in the kitchen, pouring himself an adult drink, because he is after all an adult, with an adult understanding of what is and isn't appropriate in friendships. This, this thing with Peter, whatever it's turning into it's got to stop.

And he was all prepared to get things back to the way they were in the beginning. When Peter was entertained by his antics, but not invested enough to actually be hurt by them when he inevitably made a mistake. But then Peter goes and apologies, seeing through his many masks to what he really is, a scared little kid.

"This a trick?" Neal blinks, trying hard to drop his passive aggressive act.

"No tricks." Peter's gaze never moves from his face.

Letting go of his hands to pull out the nearest chair in offer of a seat, Neal's feels the loss of contact keenly and tells himself he's too old for such silly assurances such as hand holding anyway.

Eyeing the vacant chair with misplaced contempt he does eventually sit, prepared to see this, whatever this is, through. "Now what?"

"We need to clear the air."

"You mean _you _need to clear the air." Neal points at him, plastering a smug look on his face and leaning back. "I just came over with cookies."

"No," Peter counters his attempt to create distance by leaning forward, raising a pointed finger of his own. "You came over because you wanted to know if I would still allow it. It was a test."

Suspicion clouds Neal's mind, he knows Peter is clever, but was his motive really that obvious or did Mozzie blab? "You don't know that."

"I think I do." Peter nods, giving nothing away. "Now, back to my original question-"

Neal can feel the tension from before quickly returning to his body. He shifts in his seat to counteract it, trying to find a position which will make him less exposed, less vulnerable. Exactly how Peter's been attempting to make him feel with the hand squeezing and having him stand between his knees like a chastised child.

"Peter," Neal draws out his name, stamping his feet and throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling when nothing he does works.

The begging, though clearly amusing judging by Peter's smirk, does nothing to dull Peter's desire get everything out in the open between them, it fuels it in fact.

"Okay, fine." Peter laughs. "I have a different question. If you didn't want to leave, why plan to run in the first place?"

He could tell him the truth, it's because he's a coward. That he chooses to run when things get difficult because he doesn't like to fail. He can't be hurt by someone if he leaves them first, can he? Sometimes trying and failing is far worse than not trying at all in Neal's experience.

One look over at the man demanding answers, and Neal knows Peter wouldn't buy that. He's the complete opposite. Peter believes in resolutions and positive outcomes. He strives to succeed and doesn't accept anything less. Peter would never run away from his problems like Neal does. That is why Neal needs _him_. To keep him in one place long enough to fight for what he has, to not give up.

"Why does it matter?" Neal says instead, blowing out in a long-held breath. eyes still looking up at nothing.

When the silence had stretched on, Neal's gaze never leaving the ceiling Peter had started to worry. Now he's tempted to just throw another question back at him, keep going until one of them gives up, but then realises he'd be playing Neal's game. Answering a question with a question and neither of them getting answers, which he guesses is entirely the point. If he truly wants to end this Peter knows he's going to have to put himself out there, answer Neal's questions first if he has any hope of getting answers to his own.

"Because I care about you." He breaths out in a heavy sigh, watching Neal carefully. "And I need to know what went wrong between us, so we don't make those same mistakes again." Peter involuntarily flashes back on his recurring nightmare. The one where he arrives too late, is a second too late in pulling the trigger and there are two bodies lying outside the burning warehouse instead of one. "Neal, I don't want to lose you from my life. I can't."

The sudden sound of wooden chair legs scrapping against the hard floor breaks through the too quiet apartment, dragging Peter out of his head and back in the room. He's expecting the sound of a door slamming next, but instead is welcomed by the sight of Neal, just sitting back in his seat, mouth slightly open.

"You can't-"

"I can't." Peter interrupts, reaching out and squeezing the kids' knee, affirming to Neal and himself that wasn't a slip and he isn't sorry he said it. "You're impulsive, arrogant and unbelievably childish. It drives me insane the way you run off into dangerous situations on your own." He's smiling, despite the harsh words. Voice softening, Peter continues "but you are also smart, loyal and god help me, so adorably naive sometimes it's impossible not to want to help you. I'd hope by now you'd know that I would do pretty much anything to keep you safe." He takes a breath, maybe he hadn't meant to say quite that much. "Which is why-"

"Which is why you got so mad when you thought I'd stolen the treasure." Neal's lips turn up in sad smile, voice whisper soft.

He's up before Peter has a chance to stop him and, fearing the worst, he prepares to call out.

"Beer?" Neal offers before Peter can say anything.

"Sure." Is all he can think to say.

Opening the fridge door, Neal pulls out the open wine, pouring himself another large glass and hands over a cold bottle of Peter's favourite brand before retaking his seat.

"You were right." Neal gasps after his first sip, trying to calm his shaking hands by placing them flat on the table. "You did have reason to suspect me." He flicks his gaze up and is reassured to see Peter is listening. "I know that." He nods repeatedly, to convince himself of that truth as well as Peter. "Now." He adds with a twisted half smile. "I didn't know anything at the time." He looks up and over, before quickly flitting his gaze away again. "That's why-"

"That's why you were angry when I accused you. You thought I didn't care."

"You treated me like any other suspect. Like I meant nothing." Neal can feel himself breathing, hot and heavy, like he's run a marathon since leaving the table, not poured himself a drink. "It hurt."

The crack in his voice has Neal grabbing the table top. Needing the feel of a solid surface to ground himself in this surreal moment. This isn't how things usually play out between them. Normally when they have a falling out or disagreement Peter's mad for a while, but Neal knows well enough to keep his head down, nod in all the right places when he's being told off and wait for the dust to settle. Granted, that more often than not has Peter banging his head against the wall because he thinks he isn't listening, but eventually he calms down and everything is back to what constitutes for their normal within a few days. It a cycle they've failed to break. Until now apparently.

"You think you'd have told me about Mozzie having the treasure, about everything, if I hadn't accused you by the docks that day?" Peter asks, tone unnaturally unsure.

Neal shrugs, he actually doesn't know. The chances are, even if Peter hadn't yelled at him and broken his trust, the card would have still been on the table when he came home and he'd still have gone to the storage warehouse to find out what it led to. He's certain, had Peter not made him feel like he had nothing to stay for, then he wouldn't have considered the option of running like did to begin with, but would he have given Mozzie up?

"Honestly, I don't know." Neal slouches, body turning almost liquid and fit to slip under the table.

"Well, you didn't run." Peter points out, seeming to notice his change of body language and, doing as Peter often does, needing to do something about it.

Neal still feels warm, too warm and decides to cool down by picking up his wine and taking a large gulp. "I never wanted to leave New York." He slams the glass back down and folds his arms across his chest like amour. "I just-"

"Just?"

"I didn't want anything to change. I thought I could be what both of you wanted and not have to choose."

Staring at his now empty glass, Neal's concentrating so hard on not losing himself in his own head he flinches when Peter's arm finds its way around his shoulders. Not knowing what the hell is happening is not a state Neal deals with well. He likes to have a plan. Thinking two moves ahead always gives him the edge he needs to come out on top. Right now, he has no plan and has no idea what Peter wants from him. He feels like he's being torn apart. Not just in two directions like the last few weeks between Peter and Mozzie, but like his molecules are breaking down and the infamous Neal Caffrey, renowned conman and forger, is disintegrating into dust.

Peter sighs in his ear. "You got scared. That's okay."

"I told you that." Neal hears the whine in his voice, doesn't need to see Peter's indulgent smile to know he heard it too.

"No," Peter drags the word out, "you said you were scared I wouldn't believe you." He tips his head to the side. "But I think you were just scared in general." When his playful tone gets no reaction, he turns serious. "Look, I know I don't know anything about how you grew up, -"

"Peter," now it's Neal's turn to sigh.

He tries to stand, to run, but the arm still looped around his back is firm and unrelenting, like it was always intended as a restraint over an offer of comfort.

This is not how things were supposed to be.

All he wanted was to be sure Peter hadn't given up on him. He wanted to hang out with Peter and Elizabeth like the whole treasure, kidnapping fiasco never happened. He wanted to go to work tomorrow sure that no matter what decision Peter made about the Keller case, they'd be okay. So yeah, Neal can admit - to himself at least - he was scared. Scared everything he'd come to rely on for the past two years had been irrepealably broken. It's like whenever a case comes too close to ending badly, which isn't that often thankfully but can happen, Peter showing up is all it takes to make everything better in Neal's world. As long as he has Peter, he knows he'll be okay. Neal needs Peter in his life. It's that simple.

"You didn't graduate high school and you've spent all your adult life on the run or in jail. What am I supposed to think?"

"I don't see what difference it makes." Neal shrugs and feels the arm tighten ever so slightly.

"It makes a difference because the people who raise us shape who we become."

"So, it's my parents fault I'm a criminal?". Neal looks Peter in the eye for the first time since this part of their conversation started.

"No, but I'm pretty certain you didn't choose to steal and con people just for kicks. You're too good of a person to get messed up with the likes of Keller by choice, Neal and don't even try to tell me I'm wrong."

They stare at each other for several seconds and it's Neal who looks away first. "I didn't know who he was until it was too late." He says sulkily. "Thing is you can't just leave the life, people like Keller are out there, they know me and they know what I can do. They won't hesitate to use anything, _anyone_ to get what they want. It's just the way it is. With everyone, not just the criminals."

Everyone. Peter, arm still wrapped around Neal's shoulders and unwilling to let go for fear he won't catch him this time, mulls that very troublesome word over. Keller wanted something from Neal, so he used Peter to get it. The FBI wants something from Neal, they use his freedom to get it. Neal trusts very few people and whenever Peter thinks too hard on how Neal got to be so distrustful, of even those closest to him, Peter finds himself getting angry. He'd love to get his hands on the bastard who mistreated the kid enough to ensure he'd learn to never rely on anyone ever. Because it's not a talent Neal's gained like the forging or the pick pocketing, it's ingrained, it's a part of him. El called it right, Neal withholds to protect himself, and the only reason Peter can think why that would be is because nobody has ever been there to do it for him.

"Okay, this is too big a topic to cover in one conversation." Peter holds up his palm, forestalling any objection to what he's about to say. "So, I need you to make a promise to me."

Neal looks up, "what?" His voice is barely there, the emotion of the moment still choking him.

"I need you to promise me, no matter what happens between us, no matter how scared you get, you'll still come to me if you ever need help."

"What makes you think I wouldn't just run?"

"You've had the opportunity to leave me twice now and you haven't." He breaths deep. "If I believed for one second you truly wanted to run… from _me…_" He trails off, clamping down on the emotion those words bring forth.

What would he do? Keller was right about one thing; he would have been heartbroken had Neal thrown away everything they had built together over the last almost two years.

"When Mozzie pushed me to choose between you and him, I didn't need to think. I knew I wanted to stay. I knew I had something to stay for."

"But?"

"Back at the warehouse, when you accused me of stealing the treasure and I had no idea why, had no idea how to fix it, that's the only time I've truly wanted to run, when I thought there was nothing to stay for."

Through the heartbreak he hears in those simple words Peter feels like he's hearing Neal, the real Neal for the first time. Over their time together he's come to know that all Neal truly wants in life is to belong, to be loved unconditionally, but what he hasn't appreciated until now is that Neal doesn't know that he already has it. That'll take time, time to rebuild the trust they once had, but at least now Peter knows what the problem is, he can fix it. He can show Neal how much he is loved through the same gestures he's been using all along. Maybe a little extra praise when he's done good, a little more comfort forced upon him when he gets hurt. But what Peter needs Neal to understand is that even unconditional love has its boundaries. He cannot run around doing anything he wants and expect to be celebrated for his successes if he can't comprehend the need to be punished for his mistakes.

Neal has always been predictably unpredictable, so he doubts its going to be quite that simple. Originally Peter thought what Neal needed to learn most was that he couldn't always have things go his way, other things mattered beyond what _he_ wanted, but now he thinks what Neal needs to learn most is that he can make a mistake and still be loved, that as long as he's honest and trying to do his best that's what matters.

"I get it." He breaths, content to leave all those thoughts unsaid for now. "We've got a busy day tomorrow, and both of us need sleep, so how about I promise you something in exchange?"

That peaks Neal's interest, evidence by the sudden appearance of the cheeky Caffrey smile. "Go on?"

Heartened that things may not be so dire; he finds a smile within himself and matches Neal tooth for tooth. "I promise, no matter what happens, you'll always have something to stay for. You'll always have us."

The tension held in the shoulders under his arm dissolves and Neal leans in a little closer. Peter follows his gaze, out the open balcony doors to the hint of early morning sun starting to rise over the east River.

"That could work."


End file.
